


boys of summer

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Camping, Dancing, Flirting, Honeymoon, Hot Weather, Kid Fic, Lust, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, S'mores, Secret Relationship, Sex Dreams, Shower Sharing, Showers, Sort Of, Storms, Summer Gladnis Week, Swimming, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, fic week, is a tag for consensual voyeurism a thing?? does that fit the chapter?? idk, some implied pairings in this and coming up in later chapters, young ignis is a little shit tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Fills for Summer Gladnis Week.DAY SEVEN: NO A/CThe hard muscles of Gladio’s body were impossible to resist. Ignis held on tight, enjoying his broad shoulders and the curve of his behind. “No,” he admitted.





	1. beach

It was much, much too hot for such foolhardy behaviour.

Even in the late evening Ignis was suffering still. The sun was slipping in the orange sky, the last of the daylight fading and the reception staff were hurrying to bring each floodlight to life. There were too many drunken guests to risk an accident, too much wine still flowing, and if even Ignis of all people had loosened his collar enough to dance with a complete stranger then it only stood to reason that the others were worse off. Bundles of joy and terrible decisions more than men. They brightened the darkening world around them still. Laughing and toasting, they celebrated each other and the couple they had come to watch become one.

None of them seemed to care how warm the evening still was. Many had been dancing for hours. Several had dropped their suit jackets wherever they stood. Some tied up their long floral dresses to bare their legs, catch the remainder of the sun, and Ignis had rolled up his sleeves long ago. If Noctis were here, he would never hear the end of it. Ignis had drunk too much to think of photos online, Libertus or Nyx crowing about Ignis letting loose at their wedding.

A part of him knew it would end like this. No Galadhan beach wedding was a black tie, sit-down affair like the weddings Ignis was used to. There was booze and dancing, good food and better company, no stifled drama and sour faces. Ignis had prepared as best he could. Packs of sun cream had been left underneath the tables loaded down with Galadhan cuisine, non-alcoholic options left in portable coolers. It was a fool’s errand. Ignis’ skin was already stinging and pink, thoughtlessly not re applying his protection after fishing Nyx’s young cousin out of the waves. Children were chased down by their parents after they shrieked and splashed in the shallows. Everything was pleasantly careless. Grandparents spun as they danced, like they were half their age again. Young couples kissed sweetly, not caring who watched, and the photographer waded into the thick of it, capturing memories that would last for years.

It was as delightful as it was unfamiliar to him, and Ignis supposed the euphoria must have been catching.

Drinks had been pressed into his hand all night. There was too much alcohol in his veins, a dizziness in his skull from the intense heat, and the stranger who had plucked him from his work in the kitchens was gorgeous. Not a single one of these were good enough excuses for Ignis to completely shuck each of the duties that had been entrusted to him as the usher but at this late hour, with food still sizzling and filling the air with that intoxicating aroma, it seemed impossible to care.

_I’ve been looking for you all evening_, the man had said, with a gleam in his eye, and Ignis had been helpless.

Ignis wasn’t entirely steady on his feet. But neither was his partner, and they swayed and spun together. Their feet slipped in the sand and their hands were clasped. Whiskey eyes locked onto his. A wide grin and laughter lines had Ignis’ belly tight. That awkward feeling of making a complete fool of himself had faded not long after Gladio had laughed at one of his weak jokes, enough for his crow’s feet to crinkle and Ignis was a sucker. A sucker for him, unable to say no when the dancing began. Even though he was still roasting in his dinner jacket a no felt unspeakable. Sweat dripped from every pore and his jacket desperately needed a dry clean, and he no longer cared. Beautiful eyes and the thrill of their dancing made his pulse race.

Noctis would never let him hear the end of it. In the morning at breakfast Libertus would ruin him with teasing. As long as he could see the stranger in the weak morning light and still feel that hard tug between them, he didn’t mind. That feeling was hooked somewhere behind his guts. It pulled him along with no grace and Ignis helplessly followed. The nagging feeling that it was unlike him barely mattered. The stranger had charmed him, chattered, asked how they knew the grooms and if he was enjoying the night before holding out his hand for a dance. One had turned into another, and then another. Ignis hadn’t been able to pin down the reason he agreed. The tug, perhaps, and the broadness of the man’s shoulders that made Ignis weak at the knees. Something had made him say _yes._

And Ignis didn’t even know his name.

That had to change.

Ignis leaned in at the next gap in songs. It wasn’t long, and before he called out the music was shaking the ground again. Ignis almost slipped in the sands with his distracted focus. Gods only knew where his shoes had disappeared. “What’s your name,” he called, and the stranger frowned.

“Sorry,” he had to yell over the thumping of the song, a traditional Galadhan song being swapped out for a modernish classic, one that had the young adults on the sprawl of the beach crying out in delight. “Can’t hear you.”

“What’s your name,” Ignis yelled back, throat aching. He didn’t even care when dancers close by glanced over curiously. Not when the stranger’s eyes lit up in sudden understanding.

“Gladiolus,” he replied. Like the flower, striking and strong. It was perfect. “Friends call me Gladio.”

“Gladio,” Ignis replied, just to test the name on his tongue. Gladio’s wide grin seemed to stretch even further, ear to ear. “I’m Ignis.”

“Ignis,” Gladio said in return, “Iggy,” and Ignis could feel the burn high on his cheeks. They stepped out the way of a laughing couple, and Ignis stumbled, standing much too close to Gladio’s chest, and he caught the scent of beer, of rose and amber cologne, and nothing else mattered to him. Gladio’s arms pulled careful around him, keeping him on his feet, and he simply laughed. It was low and charming, barely audible and yet all that mattered to him. “Good to meet you, Iggy,” Gladio said, and Ignis smiled, dazed, happy, and eager to dance until the sun shone brightly on a new, exciting morning.


	2. s'mores

As far as Ignis could recall, his first taste of freedom was equal parts jubilation and horror.

He had blubbered helplessly the minute he was kissed goodbye. Tiny hands fisted themselves in his father’s worn old jeans and held fast. Ignis wailed and hiccupped like his world was coming to a terrible end. A pathetic little thing, mournful and set adrift, and his parents exchanged helpless looks.

Amais sank down to his knees, cupping and rubbing Ignis’ tiny shoulders for comfort while Cor glanced back at their own companions, a king attempting to placate his own sniffling child and a Shield attempting to stifle her laughter. By the open flaps of the children’s tent, Jared hid his own smile.

“What’s wrong,” Ignis’ fathers both asked, expressions gentle and brows knit. Cor’s hands tried to pry Ignis’ free to no avail. Ignis simply grasped tighter at the next given opportunity.

“I don’t want to,” Ignis sobbed. Tears dribbled down his newly ruddy cheeks. All the parentless horrors of the world were coming to life around him. No more cuddles and no more bedtime stories. He couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

Cor quickly understood. His tone became as reassuring as a man of his gruff nature could. “Iggy, grandpa Jared will be right here with you. There’s no reason to fret. We won’t be far – look,” he gestured along the bank of the lake, towards where the tent for the adults had been hastily built. Soft music played in the hope to drown out the children’s music they left playing, all the hits that drove them crazy day in and day out. The inside glowed in the late evening, and the shadows cast within where tall. “We’ll be just there tonight.”

The tears steadily obscured Ignis’ vision. “I want to stay with you.”

Ever diplomatic, Amais carefully wiped away the tears that fell. They were all too quickly replenished. “Won’t you have more fun with your new friends, my love?”

Uncertainty was a cold stone in his chest. Friends – Ignis had yet to know those with any great deal of certainty. He had always shied away from those closer to his age. His favoured companions were parents, aunts, uncles. Few children visited the Citadel and even fewer resided there permanently. This was even after the princeling and Prompto both arrived with great clamour. In Ignis’ eyes Noctis was still a baby, Prompto his snotty little brother who followed him around like he had naught else to do with his life, and only Gladio was different.

Older, bigger, brighter. An overwhelming force and Ignis could not look at him long for fear of being blinded. He left rooms quickly when Gladio thundered in, hid his face in his hands when Gladio glanced his way, and had no idea that each adult saw it plain as day. Ignis avoided children who weren’t family like he was afraid their nonsense was catching.

However, he knew full well that each child was cherished. Such a young boy was perfectly happy to use that to his advantage. And so, he shrieked loud enough to rival the worst of Noctis’ fits. Cor looked deeply stricken, a moment away from Ignis’ favourite victory – being hoisted up into strong, warm arms and closely embraced. It would be another long summer evening with his parents, in Amais’ lap and snacking on gummies, chocolates, whatever was pressed into his hands and the boy beaming at each soft kiss on his temple, blissfully unaware of how he had interrupted the first break his parents had been looking forward to in months.

At least until Amais released him suddenly, and new hands held onto the back of Ignis’ thin shirt. It was his favourite, the comfortable green that he liked to tuck into his worn shorts, and the touch startled him into silence. The sobbing abruptly ceased. Those hands tugged firmly, confidently. They demanded his attention and Ignis gave it, turning to find big brown expectant eyes and a serious look, Gladio’s big hands clinging on.

So surprised at the sight of him Ignis couldn’t think to charge up another wail. He stared, face pink from his exertion. Gladio cleared his throat like his father at the head of the dining table and waited for attention. Every eye was on him. In the sudden quiet the sound was alike a clap of thunder, ominous ahead of the storm. Every eye was on him.

“S’mores,” the child said, like it was the tool he held to unlock each mystery of the ancient universe. Like it was obvious, and even Ignis’ parents failed to follow the logic. “We’re gonna have s’mores.”

Only murmured voices from the other tent were audible. The music dropped a touch. Even Noctis had finally fallen quiet, startled by the painful lack of nose. Regis’ relief was palpable. From across the way, Clarus poked his head out of their tent, brows raised. Gladio ignored them all, eyes only for Ignis.

“Come sit with me,” the boy continued. Steady and sure, his father’s patience a perfect match for his mother’s steady determination. His hands refused to let go.

Ignis stared. All attempts at rebellion were long since forgotten. The shell shock gave away to that deep worry that sat in his stomach and he looked between his parents, searching for answers. Assurance was found in Cor’s serenity and Amais’ encouraging smile, and it began to soothe his frayed nerves. Ignis danced from foot to foot, scuffing his shoes. As if sensing his calm Gladio released him and instead took Ignis’ hands in a careful grip, recapturing his attention. Even looking back on fond memories, Ignis had yet to know a gentler hold.

“They’re yummy,” he said, as if it were fact, and Ignis couldn’t help but believe him. “Mom showed me how to make them. They’re her favourite.” The latter was told as if it was a secret, lowered voices all conspiratorial. He tugged Ignis away from his parents, towards their tent. The fire had yet to be sparked in its pit but boxes littered the floor atop a spread tarp. Crackers and cones for ice creams lay beside packs of gummy anaks and bars of chocolate. Enough to last a group of adults a week, and enough to last four children the night.

Still sniffling to stop the snot from running, eyes still damp, the reluctance had Ignis moving slowly. He rubbed at his face with his sleeve. “I don’t want to go,” he murmured but much less convinced of his agony.

“We can play,” Gladio informed him, and Ignis knew that cured all ills. He supposed he was sold. Awkwardly following his scrubbed his face dry. It was like his parents had never existed, he had never been crying, and his parents shared disbelieving looks. They crept away in the hopes that Ignis would barely notice they were gone, safe in the knowledge that Clarus had saved them beers and Gladio bore the patience of a saint.

Jared smiled down at them. Their hands knit together. “Prompto is inside if you want to play,” he told him, and Ignis pulled a face, but let Gladio pull him inside. The warmth of the evening grew more insufferable encased in the tarp, stuffy and miserable until the humidifier was switched on. Gladio’s hand remained sweaty but Ignis found for the very first time that he didn’t mind.

Little sleeping bags were bundled together. Prompto was already nestled in one, cocooned like one of the caterpillars that Ignis had become fascinated with, and he was deeply disappointed to find the same fussy little brother emerging by the time Jared had stoked the flames outside. By then the adults had all gathered inside, laughing and playing music that Ignis disliked, and Gladio had spread the trading cards his father had given him over the grassy floor. With the setting of the sun a sharp cold came, the flames kept small and controlled by a steady hand for the safety of the children, s’mores prebuilt and awaiting marshmallows.

The night was almost miserable, Ignis decided, but the older boy had saved it. No reluctance plagued Ignis even as the deep orange sky was replaced by a deeper velvet, a crushing darkness intimidatingly high above and no parent to protect him, but the fire rose to wash it away, and Gladio perched close at his side always. His hair was ragged, unable to be tamed by the strongest brush yet. His cheeks were soft, and his eyes seemed to glow in the firelight.

It all made sense, years later, why that stuck out so intensely.

“Here,” Gladio told him. He held out the fixture while Jared guided his hands, not allowing the marshmallow to dip too low and be set alight. The mallow softened, slipping, and they worked together to make Ignis’ first s’more, even before Gladio had constructed his own. It wobbled precariously.

Marshmallow spilled out, hot around the cracker, sticking to his fingers, tongue and teeth – and Ignis would always remember the sugary sweet taste of his summer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm not particularly proud of this one, written in a rush to make the day (i always write week prompts out of order because i'm the worst) but i hope you like it anyway!

It had been a long time since Ignis had felt grass beneath his bare feet, lush and damp as the evening began to settle in, and he exhaled as loudly as he dared. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, hadn’t been when he was a child insisting his father carry him across the green to save his soles, but it was better than muck. Too often these days Ignis was forced to scrub mud from his clothes, his skin, the kind that dried quick and clung like clay. It was foul and muddied the floor of a hotel shower and weeds clung to Ignis calves if he was forced to bathe in ponds, kicking to stay abreast of wild waters. The lakes smelt sour, murky and thick, and he worried ceaselessly if the stench clung to him.

There were no positives to be found in the so-called great outdoors, Ignis thought. All it could be was the discomfort of dampness, and the torture of the man before him.

Despite his great size Gladio was barely visible. The waters rippled near silent. The heat meant Ignis was forced to remove his glasses and firmly clean the lenses, sticky and foggy, and his unsteady hands fumbled hard, exhilarated and yet full of dread at what he might see. Ignis could only steal the occasional glimpse and he knew even that was quite enough for his worrisome heart.

Thank the gods the boys had elected to bathe further upstream. They traipsed far beyond where the mouth of the river widened to become a tepid pool until their murmuring was swallowed by even the subtle sounds of nature. That had set him on edge a moment – anything could happen. Beast or man, sickness or their own fits of idiocy. But Ignis’ gaze quickly became hyper fixated, hands utterly useless, mouth dry, and the muggy heat of the world did nothing to make him any more competent. It was impossible to look away.

A splash – a head emerged from the darkness of the water. Arms followed in a perfunctory breaststroke. A body cut through the still waters sharply and Ignis swallowed, knowing for his own good he should walk away. There were a good dozen more practical things he could do, in more practical places back in the safety of their camp. His own bathing ritual was quick. Less of a ritual and more of a panic, desperate to be in and out as quick as possible. It was a simple tussle of his hair and a scrub at the places worst affected by his sweat throughout the long day. He crawled out wrapped himself in their nicest towel before Gladio could dare tease. The thought of those eyes watching him in such a moment was too much. It would have been easier and more practical just to slink off and begin preparations for the evening meal, but Ignis lingered, a shadow amongst the trees, but Gladio bounded into the water full of satisfaction.

Gladio took his time. He always did. Basking in the cool relief of water he took time to do his laps, something he had always done on his free Thursday period back in the city. He was happier, not at all worried about running over his next period and he even hummed to himself contently when he rested, lips quirked in a permanent grin. If Ignis switched all else off it could have passed for normality. They could be just two men together, one enjoying himself fully and the other dreaming of their next stop at a hotel, a proper bath and clean sheets. It could have been blissful, even, just the free relaxation of no worries and no duty. But Ignis was a masochist, it seemed, desperate to sink into the sweet torment of greedily lapping up what he couldn’t have.

He watched silently. Twice now he had pricked his fingers as he sought to repair his shirt.

Stitching up the rip was work that required his complete concentration. But Ignis had no idea when he would be able to enjoy such sights again. Gladio was shirtless as often as the sun rose in the sky, and sometimes neglected to remove the piercing that only his friends knew about from his nipple. Existing in the same universe as him was an exercise in self-control like no other. Ignis watched as Gladio made it to the edge of the water, feet pushing hard against the stone to propel him backwards into a backstroke. Ignis caught glimpses of honey skin, alluring and tempting, his heart beating out of pace. Gladio cleared the water in moments and soon enough he was back on Ignis’ side of the back, where he worked cross legged on the dry part of the dirt. Spare tarp borrowed from the Regalia’s trunk protected his rump. Ignis sat only in boxers, the loosest and most comfortable he had packed. Even in the shade of the tall tress the heat was oppressive, sweat already gleaming along Ignis’ spine. His mouth was dry, and his hands careless.

Another hand grasped the rock close to Ignis’s feet. The skin was beaded with water, tendons standing stark. It steadied, straightened, and Gladio rose out of the water with a gush of water.

Ignis swallowed. It was difficult around the hard lump. He commanded himself to avert his eyes, gods give him strength, but even if he could it was much too late. The image of Gladio was seared into him, a white-hot brand against his eyelids. The heavy expanse of a stomach, wet hair turned inky blank from a beautiful chestnut brown. The water cascaded as Gladio shook his head, reaching up to brush it out of his carefree eyes and squeeze the excess free. It rolled down the strength of his biceps and thighs, dripping back into the pool, and Ignis, barely able to look higher than the man’s waist, somehow caught his brilliant smile.

“So much better,” he declared, and twisted the mass of long hair to drape across his broad shoulders. As always Gladio seemed to care little for his own nudity. Tall as he was the water only came up to his mid thighs. Ignis was helpless to the thoughtless prick of his finger, another bead of blood swelling up, and Gladio was blissfully unaware of his warring humiliation and desire. “I wanna stay here forever. Dunno what made you leave so quick, Igs. Did a fish spook you?”

Nothing mattered outside the low rumble of Gladio’s laughter and the firm line of his abs. Not a single piece of him went undefined. Ignis wanted it all – his strong thighs around his waist and Ignis’ tongue tracing the scars that were stark white. Not a damn thing mattered, and Ignis prayed his flush wasn’t clear.

Dropping his eyes lest he be caught, he followed a trail of fine haired that thickened out before him, darkening, and had to avert his eyes truly before the path lead to flesh. He fascinated himself temporarily with a ladybug that crawled over a long, drooping blade of grass. “I suppose,” he said with a haughtiness he hadn’t intended, and looked back to his shirt, white cloth damn near ruined with the red.

It was a moment that would linger in his waking day dreams, and Ignis could only pray that the torturous summer pass quick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when you forget the name of luna's brother but you remember the random name of her house first go and spell it perfectly

After everything - half a day on the unkempt Lucian roads and long hours exposed to the whipping wind on his Majesty’s personal boat, topped off with a whole day on a crowded train - Ignis was just grateful for a moment of quiet with a solid cup of tea.

A hefty mug would have been perfect. There was nothing quite like setting into the familiarity of your own apartment in your most comfortable pyjamas without a care in the world. But home was far behind and only stifling suits and uncomfortable loafers awaited him here.

But the seats were comfortable, and delightful luxury. Better than the poorly cushioned seats of the train. After they amount of times the train stopped for seemingly no reason Ignis felt owed a little recompense. The chance to sit on a rock might have been pleasant enough. A change of scenery would have done him good, the rolling plains of Niflheim hardly pleasant. It would only do that Fenestala Manor knew comfort, knew how to be perfect hosts as if it was the only reason the building still stood after all these years. The tea flowed with seemingly no end and Ignis had polished off a whole cake plater all alone. The sun had barely reached its height and only crumbs remained.

Leaning back, Ignis sighed softly and closed his weary eyes. A moment to relax came rarely. It was not quite noon and Ignis had never been one for snoozing and wasting the daylight hours. But a formal lunch would begin soon, with the newly reunited prince and Oracle side by side, and their air was pleasantly warm. There was no good reason not to bask with such good tidings. Tenebrae was a country of perfections, her people beautiful and her lands rich. Ignis had known it as a child, long ago, but never as a grown man had he been blessed with the opportunity to see his homeland. It was a thrill to see the sylleblossoms sway in gentle winds. It was like watching a swirling ocean, deep blues touched with vibrant purples, and Ignis could finally enjoy peace. Honey tea spread across his tongue, the warmth and sweetness spreading to his core. Long fingers sapped the heat from his delicate cup.

It was wonderful to be alone, a pressure he hadn’t quite realised that he carried freshly relieved. All he could hear was the whispering of the wind.

It was a perfect few minutes before Ignis caught signs of life. There was rusting in the grand room behind him, through the door that Ignis had left often to enjoy the aesthetic of a lace curtain billowing in the breeze. Those noise was gentle, unable to break the spell, and the door creaked very softly.

Ignis was soothed enough to keep watching the flowers. Familiar heavy footfalls sounded behind him, instantly recognisable, and Ignis’ smiled to himself as a lone heavyset shadow fell across his lap. Ignis smiled to himself and his grin only widened as a hand gripped his shoulder and squeezed. The fingertips pressed into his muscle, relieving some of the stubborn tension that remained.

“Lunch is nearly up,” Gladio said with a slow rub, and now they were alone Ignis could finally let it linger and truly enjoy his touch. Softening, sweetened, Ignis let his head lull onto that hand. “They’re just hunting down Noct and Lady Lunafreya, and they’ll be looking to serve up.”

Humming, Ignis let his eyes drift shut. The sunlight was enough to make him as lazy as a kitten, eager for a nap. It had been hard to leave his delightful bed, expensive sheets and a memory foam mattress to die for. He showered and dressed slowly, as slowly as the sun rose. It was all he could do was bask in the sight of it through the windows that stood almost floor to ceiling. It was breath-taking, lighting up the world in pale pinks and soft gold, and Ignis knew a part of him never wanted to leave.

“Lost in their own little world together, are they?” He reached up and his fingertips brushed Gladio’s scarred up knuckles. The thought of it was sweet and reassuring to every one of Ignis’ uneasy fears that had kept him from rest. It had been many long years since they had seen each other last, mere children, and they had all worried that the chasm of both location and puberty was too vast. Noctis had fret the same. He had been short with them a few times, sullen the days before they were set to depart, and withdrawn as the manor came into sight. But then he had seen her and Ignis saw their expressions. Ignis watched as they embraced tightly, a little too tight for propriety, but Ignis didn’t breathe a word.

He hadn’t seen them since dinner. Not even at breakfast, which going by the sour look on her brother’s face he loathed. The worry that held Ignis’ heart in an iron fist slowly relaxed. And in a land this beautiful, it seemed impossible to frown.

Gladio knew all too well. He laughed, emerging deep from inside his chest. “Yeah. A little like you, apparently.”

His posture might have been undignified but Gladio’s eyes were free of judgement. Ignis had slumped back in one of the delicate chairs and crossed one leg carefully over the other, uncaring that his polka dot patterned socks were fully on display. “I’m comfortable,” Ignis murmured defensively. “Their tea is sublime.”

Gladio squeezed again. “Glad to hear it,” he said and the hand slipped away. The warmth faded with time, but Ignis’ smile remained. “You look good like this, Igs. Damn good.”

“I feel that way,” Ignis admitted freely. It was so much easier to live free of the Citadel – people still watched. People would always watch, but it was simple to shrug free of that weight. Socks be damned, the nattering of the nobility was meaningless to him. If the ones he loved were content, so was Ignis.

He turned his head to glance aside at Gladio and found him, as always, beautiful. There was something about his smile. Imperfect, crooked, and wonderful. His hair was neatly combed back for the first time in Ignis’ memory, his clothes a wise smart casual with a baby blue button up and simple black slacks. It bore the little touches that were so typically Gladio, with his top buttons down to expose prominent collarbones and his slacks well fit to his thighs. It filled Ignis to the brim with a gentle, ebbing euphoria, spilling out into the world around him.

There were a few spare chairs at his side. Gladio still lingered by the door, hands newly shoved into his pockets. “Sit with me a while,” he asked, and Gladio obeyed without question.

Ungracefully, Gladio pulled the chair over. It even groaned underneath his weight, enough for him to look faintly reluctant. Such a seat was not meant for a warrior’s weight and bulk. Gladio supressed the regret as well as he could and simply reached over and joined their hands, careful not to sit too arrogantly lest the worst happen. Their fingers laced together, meant to be, and Ignis felt the moment become perfect.

They said nothing, simply enjoying a moment that came all too rarely. When Ignis peered over, glasses slipping on his nose, Gladio was looking out towards the serene ocean of petals. He wore a simple, honest smile, the kind he wore when he slept with Ignis close by. The field and clear skies seemed to go on forever, and not a soul could be seen.

It felt like forever since they had last been alone. Hotels and tents with brothers by their side meant they could only occasionally share heavy looks, meaningful smiles. Even now they still slept in separate rooms. It was better for the Lucian image, hard as it was, and Ignis’ sheets were cold in a way he hadn’t known in close to a year. Such was the nature of secrecy, and a foolhardy dalliance that had been thrown into sharp relief the moment Gladio kissed him with such sweetness, and Ignis’ chest had fallen apart.

This was a rare moment for both of them, and Gladio’s joy showed even as it was subdued. His smile was bright, his hands clammy like the first time they touched each other all over again. It was something simple, but it was theirs, and it was all that mattered.

“It’s peaceful here,” Ignis commented, a thousand miles from the pressures of the city. Far from the throne and every burden it gave him Tenebrae seemed a paradise. It held its own secrets, its own heavy crown, but every voice and smile seemed genuinely serene. “I dare wonder how long we can impose before the Lady Lunafreya loses her patience and has her guards chase us out.”

“Forever, probably. That Ravus though…”

“Non-existent,” Ignis agreed. He took another sip of his now lukewarm tea. It was far sweeter than that man, a shadow that glowered no matter the light. “I’m sure Lady Lunafreya would be able to talk him down.”

Gladio hummed very quietly in response. It was loud in the silent world. There were no engines and very faint winds, little birdsong. The sky was void of clouds and in the beginnings of summer the sun was pleasantly warm without being overbearing. Life was abundant here, vines creeping over the balcony and butterflies and bees attracted by the colour and scent.

“Well, even if not. I’m sure if you and I want to get married here one day, Lunafreya will happily squeeze us past her asshole brother for the day.”

Ignis looked at him, sharper than intended. Gladio turned to meet his eyes, shameless, even flashing a grin, all white teeth and a wicked tongue. You can’t call the Lord of Tenebrae an asshole, Ignis almost spluttered, but words failed him.

They had spoken of marriage – somewhat. It had been passing moments, post an evening of passion or joking about plans for honeymoons, or even the darker hours worrying what their families might say, what Noctis might think of their lack of control. It was joked about mostly, in private stolen moments, and Ignis hadn’t dared dream that Gladio might be serious.

“Married?” He almost yelped in his incredulity, and then struggled to smooth over his surprise to prevent hurting any feelings. It was hard not to reel, but if this was anything more than another more than his jests, he wouldn’t have Gladio scalded, rushing off to lick his wounds. “Here?”

Gladio shrugged casually. Ignis loathed him sometimes, somehow able to be relaxed seemingly no matter what. “You seemed to like the sylleblossoms. Being married out in the field might be nice.” Carefully, he cleared his throat. “Or not. Just if you wanted. Obviously. No pressure.”

Ignis clawed back his composure as best he could, and finally took pity. Gladio lowered his eyes but Ignis offered him a smile he didn’t see, squeezing his hand. “It would be a wonderful memory. A vase of them at home would remind me of our vows.”

High on Gladio’s cheeks sat splotches of colour. Gladio took a peek at him, and when he found Ignis watching him hurriedly looked away, like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. Even still, he summoned the scraps of bravery to say, “Our gardens could be full of them when we retire. Maybe one of the quiet Altissian islands.”

It was laughable to think they might reach retirement age, let alone the both of them. A Shield never lasted long, unless in times of true peace. They stood a greater chance of Ravus allowing the prince and his sister to remain unaccosted through their trip. Yet the thought made itself at home in Ignis’ heart. It nestled in close, warming him throughout. Perhaps a modest home by the ocean, a long garden that lead down to famously pale sands. It would be a sight to enrapture the island children and make their parents jealous. Their home would finally be quiet, filled with colour and rustic wood rather than the city’s preferred smooth marble and cold metals, and the dream almost felt within Ignis’ reach the more he entertained it.

It was not. It rest atop a dozen improbabilities, least of either of them making it into their twilight years. They would leave behind the only city they had ever known, their siblings, their king. It simply wasn’t feasible – and still he longed for it.

Ignis let the surprise pass him by. It drifted, out of sight, and he let the peace settle over him before he spoke. “You’ve thought about this, then.”

Gladio’s tiny smile turned bashful. “A little,” he said, and Ignis knew he lied. Gladio did nothing by halves. He read far too many romantic epics to not have a sweeping love story for them both and Ignis could only pray that he could make their reality even half as thrilling. He expected all that weight to be another burden upon already tired shoulders, but instead it filled him with excitement.

Ignis shifted, and lifted Gladio’s hand to his mouth. Gladio wore no jewellery on his fingers. Ignis would change that, when he was brave enough. Until then he could only kiss the centre of Gladio’s palm, and bask in every beautiful moment Gladio had given him.

“Perhaps you could tell me all about it tonight, over dinner. Just the two of us,” he suggested, and Gladio’s beaming smile rivalled the sun.


	5. Chapter 5

Water slick hands had become close to useless as Gladio fumbled with their only set of keys, cursing up a storm under his breath. He and Ignis had tracked water throughout the cramped hallways, so pressed together they were constantly bumping shoulders, shoes soaked through. They had drawn the irritated eye of the receptionist and all the cleaning staff, only just finished with their night’s hard work that was now being undone. At such a late hour Gladio simply paid them no heed, heaving a sigh of relief upon reaching their door, and wanting only to perish and move on to a far kinder place once they finally shut the door behind them.

With a similar huff, Ignis dropped his sodden jacket from over his head onto the floor. His glasses had been cleared the moment they escaped the torrential rain, but still water rolled down the long length of his nose. Beads of water covered each inch of skin. His cheeks were flushed red, his mouth set in a firm line, and Gladio longed to kiss that edge away.

“Thank the gods,” he murmured, shoulders slumping, and Gladio wholeheartedly agreed.

Their room was pitch black. Paired with the noise of rain lashing against the sole window the atmosphere was dreary. They were supposed to be at Galdin by now, safe and cozy in their luxury suite waiting for the boat to steal them away for their honeymoon, but the rain had quite literally put a damper on those plans. It had drowned the already unkempt roads and Gladio could drive no more. The darkness was impossible to navigate.

Now that meant a night at some cheap motel he couldn’t remember the name of. Rather than sharing champagne and hand feeding Ignis strawberries, hearing the ocean lap at their deck, they could enjoy the distant sound of a couple arguing, and the too loud claps of thunder.

Gladio grunted and groped along the wall for the light. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he could see the shape of the room, vague as it was, with the edges of a single size bed and a cabinet. It seemed like a small stretch of nothing. His fingertips met smooth plastic and he clicked, squinting against the sudden and harsh light, and slowly surveyed the room.

Ignis snorted. It only took a second for the sight to truly settle in. He looked away and arched his brows, and disaster and exhaustion settled into Gladio’s chest. “Goodness,” he said as evenly as he could manage, and Gladio sighed.

It was a matter of impulse to turn the light back off. Instead he readjusted his grip on their bags and ignored the sickening squelch of his nearly ruined suit. “Just until the rain stops,” he said, partly a promise to his new husband and partly to himself.

With his shoes squeaking Gladio made for the bathroom. Dumping the bags in the cramped tub he found he heaved a great sigh. There was a string drawn light that he neglected, half afraid to see the state of it. He began to unbutton his shirt, fabric clinging to his stomach and shoulders, gone see through. Behind him he could hear Ignis’ footfalls making the old floorboards creak. Gladio knew he was taking the room in, the stains on the wallpaper and the thin, unmade sheets on the bed. He knew all too well the expression Ignis was making, all pinched and firm.

“More spacious than the car at the very least,” he finally said, and Gladio winced.

As he folded his shirt over his arm freezing water dripped onto the tile. He slung it carelessly over the door, letting it create as big a puddle as it wished. Next he toed off his formal shoes, peeled off his sodden socks. It wasn’t much relief – not with his slacks just as damp, but it was something. Finally he would warm up, if anything in this joint was working.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he shed his clothes, a drowned rat – his hair was frizzing beyond redemption and his skin was flushed, barely able to weather the storm. Another thunderclap and Gladio prayed it might be over soon. It was hard to keep sight of the positives but Gladio soldiered on. They had light, a roof over their heads, and if Ignis was of the same mind even after all this, Gladio could not be kept from ravishing his husband come hell or high water. He was all Gladio needed.

When he combed his hands through his hair as best he could and felt emotionally ready to face the world, he stepped out to the definition of mixed emotions.

As expected, their motel room was still hideous. A couple hundred gil earned them pale peeling wallpaper of just the right shade of yellow to make Gladio feel faintly ill. The carpet was rough beneath Gladio’s feet, patchy and thin in most places. It looked even worse as he adjusted to his new reality. Meanwhile Ignis seemed to be persevering, ignoring it entirely or at least as best he could, and had followed a similar train of thought to Gladio. He had deftly stripped until he stood only in his boxers, well fit and a deep navy, and Gladio supposed he might have folded his wedding suit. He didn’t think to look. In the gentle chill of the room Gladio was distracted by Ignis’ flushed pink skin, nipples pebbled and dusky, and his hair plastered to his forehead.

Shaking his head like a dog, Ignis adjusted his wonky glasses. He dropped his undershirt to the floor and rubbed at his face, disturbing his glasses again without thinking. “Until the rain stops,” he agreed, and Gladio finally tore his eyes away from Ignis’ thighs. They were toned and even more powerful than they looked, covered in fine sandy hairs, and Gladio wanted them riding his face.

“Sorry,” he said, and the guilt determinedly chipped away at his libido. Lust and regret warred.

Ignis tilted his head. “Whatever for?”

Abashed, Gladio’s tongue carried a thousand regrets. For not booking a hotel closer to their reception, for not looking ahead on the weather forecast. For not finding them a better motel, but all his misery stuck. “Screwing this up.”

Ignis tutted, and without fanfare he leant forward and began to peel his boxers down those thighs.

Gladio’s mouth went dry and his hearing fuzzy. It was all he could do to devour and faintly hear Ignis remind him, “It’s hardly your fault the heavens opened.”

It wasn’t. Logically, he knew that. It had come quicker than either of them could realise, clouds as heavy as velvet descending quickly, dark shadows above the mountains. Soft droplets turned into a thunderous shower and soon enough they could no longer see the road. They had pulled over for ten minutes, praying that the poor weather would pass as quickly as it came. It did not, and Ignis had begun to shiver. They drove as quickly but safely as they could, a serene drive becoming tense and silent until the glow of a motel stood ahead. They had become soaked fetching their things, sprinting for the reception, and Gladio swore he had Ignis huff out incredulous laughter. Still, something was better than nothing, even if it barely felt that way.

But this was their wedding night. A night they had planned meticulously and looked forward to for months. Gladio was going to make it perfect. Only the best for the happy couple – they had earned it, after all – and now here they were. Soaked and dishevelled, in the middle of nowhere.

His shoulders sagged hard. “Can’t imagine this is what you thought about when you pictured the end to our wedding.”

Somehow despite everything Ignis laughed at him. It was light and breezy, not carrying the mocking edge Gladio thought he deserved. Heavy lidded eyes served some coy side eye. Somehow the man still looked sexy soaked to his skin, boxers caught around his knees and striking a pose clearly intended to make Gladio laugh. The magic of Ignis, Gladio supposed, and huffed out a laugh to be polite. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured, and gave Gladio and slow and appreciative up and down look. “I’d say this is rather what I pictured.”

The chill from the pounding rain remained. Never-the-less, the tips of Gladio’ ears burnt bright. It was hard to feel anything but clownish in wet pants. “Well, I mean…”

He floundered and Ignis’ still content eyes crinkled. That laughter filled the room, and Ignis kicked off his boxers to finally stand nude. With his hands on his lithe hips, legs long and shapely, Gladio would have died to have them wrapped around his waist. Wrapped anywhere, as long as Ignis was sighing out his name with pleasure, distracted from all of Gladio’s shortcomings.

That rain droned on. It wasn’t much longer before a rumble sounded, low and ominous from the plains. It was ominously loud, but Ignis reached out for him, and his wedding ring gleamed bright.

“Come here. I’ll make it everything you dreamed of,” Ignis murmured, with a wink that bordered on coquettish, and then a stray bolt of lightning plunged the entire motel into darkness. 


	6. Chapter 6

Under the powerful rush of water, Ignis caught the soft click and groan of the bathroom door opening, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” he said outright without evening opening his eyes. Overhead the cold water drummed down upon him, beads weighing heavily on his eyelashes. Suds dripped down his biceps. The smell of his citrus scented bodywash clung to him, far better than the stench of sweat.

No response. Ignis listened intently. He swore he could hear the pad of bare feet across the tile before there was the obvious squeak and grind of the shower door opening. It slid firmly shut again, not before soaking Ignis’ bathmat, and a great warmth suddenly pressed in behind him. He attempted to sluice the worst of the water from his face. Shaking his head and pulling a half serious face, he shot a look over his bare shoulder. Strands of wet hair obscured his vision.

“What happened to my five minutes of peace and quiet,” He asked, without a trace of venom. He stood comfortably in his nudity, only feeling a touch foolish in the ridiculous pose he struck looking over his shoulder. He felt like the parody of one of those calendars that often hung in the Kingsglaive barracks.

Gladio flashed him a grin. It was lazy, close to lethargic. Despite the water he still wore his navy tank, speckled with black droplets now and clinging close to his body. Grabbing the hem he pulled it up much too late, exposing his stomach, his chest, and without pause he tugged his thick hair out of its straining tie. Ignis couldn’t help but give an appreciative look, head to toe. Only his briefs remained, his shorts long since abandoned in the middle of the living room. “It’s your A/C on the fritz. Guests deserve to be comfy too.”

“Only the welcome ones,” he muttered, but still watched with great interest as Gladio removed his briefs with no glamour. They were kicked immediately into the corner. “Especially not the disgustingly sweaty ones.”

“Lil’ rich, coming from you,” he replied, but still exhaled in unrestrained pleasure when he tilted up his head, allowing a hard spray directly into his face. He immediately took the lion’s share of space and stretched, grunting when something in his back popped hard. He sprayed water everywhere as he said, muffled, “This is more like it.”

Ignis hummed with agreement. It was easy to prefer the frozen water and cramped confines to the thick, awful air of his apartment. Not even keeping each door and window closed and the blinds drawn tight granted much reprieve. Insomnia sweltered, stuck in the stifling embrace of August, and Ignis had always been a man who lived and dressed for autumn. No matter how long he called this place home, he failed to cope with the steaming sunlight.

Even Gladio had been suffering. With his distaste for shirts and easy-going demeanour he had been full of smiles and jest – and ten minutes after Ignis’ overworked A/C ground to a halt he was close to panting. Cool beers had become ice cream, then ice cubes bobbing in glasses of water. The sweat had made their shirts damp and minds fuzzy. It was all Ignis could do to spend his hard-earned Sunday caring for his slowly shrivelling houseplants. It had been a roasting work week, each day more miserable than the last. Sweat had him glistening, his fuse shortened, and a cold shower on full blast was the only thing keeping him going. The first touch of cold had been better than any hot meal on a winter’s day, better than sinking into a soft bed.

Ignis rubbed absentmindedly at his stomach. He watched as Gladio scrubbed at the worst afflicted areas, lathering up his hands with that bodywash and scrubbing the back of his neck, under his arms. He smoothed over his biceps, leaving suds over his belly. He was gorgeous, as he always was and will be, and if Ignis could dispel that awkward nausea of heat, the dehydration headache that had been pulsing between his eyes for a good hour now, he might have reached out and enjoyed the touch of his skin.

It seemed that Gladio was happy enough to entertain himself for the time being. Smiling to himself, he rinsed his hands of the lather, slowly cleansing the rest of him, before running his hands over his hair. Amber eyes were heavy lidded in satisfaction. “I could live here, y’know.”

“You may, as long as you pay my water bills,” Ignis said, and brushed back his own hair. It felt good to have it out of his face, even better to have it damp. The sticky, disgusting feeling was lifting. Ignis almost felt humans again.

The two of them showered in companionable quiets. Gladio yawned widely, exposing his very white and wonderfully sharp teeth and Ignis felt a familiar tug in his gut. The water kept the worst of his hunger at bay, smoothing a hand between his legs just to relieve the tension, and letting the water soak his back. He watched as Gladio slicked down his thighs, his calves, his feet. He was close to crowded against the tile, recalling each other time he had been pressed by Gladio’s body into hard services, and exhaled as Ignis’ cock did it’s best to harden. _Later, _he promised himself, when the evening had cooled and they could open their windows.

With time the shower grew intense. A cold began to settle in, Ignis’ skin flushed and tight and his nipples prominent. His feet stood in a frozen pool. Crossing his arms over his chest, clutching at his own biceps, Ignis’ made a soft noise of complaint.

No matter how quiet Ignis tried to be, Gladio noticed. He cracked open one eye. “Cold?”

Ignis nodded. Immediately Gladio opened his arms and coaxed Ignis into the cocoon, his hands coming to rest on Ignis’ slim hips. He frowned to himself, resting his chin atop Ignis’ head. The water had come little pinpricks, tiny needles of cold, but Gladio always ran hot. Far too hot in the summer days but Ignis was loathe to squirm out of them. Sharing a bed was the sweetest torment. But here the touch was rousing, comforting. Ignis felt human again. Clammy was far better than sticky, and Gladio was a wall of heat that Ignis was willing to curl up with.

Ignis pillow his head atop the beak of the eagle. His own arms settled loosely around Gladio’s waist. The water no longer fell down upon his head and Ignis closed his eyes, sighing in contentment. Gladio’s fingers stroked the soft skin of his hip, tracing to the subtle fold of his stomach.

“Wanna get out?” He asked lowly, barely audible over the stream. His eyes drifted back closed again, comfortable where he stood. He took the brunt of the water, even as it frizzed up his hair.

The hard muscles of Gladio’s body were impossible to resist. Ignis held on tight, enjoying his broad shoulders and the curve of his behind. “No,” he admitted. As if worried Gladio might laugh at him and slip away, Ignis’ arms shrank tighter around him. Beads of water rolled down his spine. “Too hot out there.”

“You’ll freeze to death in here.”

“That’s fine,” Ignis murmured as if Gladio suggested something perfectly reasonable, and Gladio laughed at him. To jolt him back to life he grabbed a handful of Ignis’ ass with one hand, the other pinching the thickness of his thigh playfully. Ignis jumped, surprised, arcing onto his tiptoes. “Gladio!” He scolded, a pretence of protest as that tug pulled firmer this time. He delighted in Gladio’s bark of laughter, let himself be carefully swayed from side to side as if they were dancing. Ignis responded in kind, his heart lightening. His pink skin only deepened in colour, and he permitted himself a playful smile.

“Couldn’t resist,” Gladio said, just smug enough to be insufferable and Ignis killed it with a firm grasp at his own ass, both hands intense, squeezing and then kneading firmly. Those muscles tensed and Gladio jumped almost high enough to hit his head on the ceiling. The laughter that escaped him was deafening, filling the bathroom with joy and Ignis allowed himself to finally be ridiculous. He lifted his head, rainbows in his vicious as the water coated his eyelashes and found Gladio gazing fondly at him. Wracked with laughter, his chest shook. Colour bloomed on his cheeks and the laughter lines around his eyes were out in full force – he was beautiful, and Ignis couldn’t feel the cold anymore. “Enjoy that, did you?”

“Very much,” Ignis declared, and then nuzzled back against the pillow of his chest. “Suppose we’ll be withered and pruney in here forever, then.”

“That’s fine with me,” Gladio murmured, and Ignis basked in the feeling of warm, wet lips against his crown.


	7. Chapter 7

It was difficult to say exactly where one ended and the other began.

Legs were thrown messily over a waist or bent to support their weight. Arms were wrapped around a back or a neck, gripping biceps or threading into hair. Mouths were pressed sloppily together and tongues traces as noses bumped hard. Skin against skin was intoxicating, hard muscle pressed together and Ignis could only sigh as Gladio pulled him even closer.

It was a stupid move for a thousand different reasons. Their air was stifling, for one. They had pushed the windows far open in an attempt to cool the sweltering night, a tall fan left to rotate and cast a chill over their bare skin. The way they were tangled only exacerbated things, left sweat to roll down the slopes of their backs and the bed’s thin sheets stuck to them. But they had no breath to complain, and no regard for anything but each other.

Gladio grunted, arms on either side of Ignis’ head to carry his weight. He kept pace perfectly, holding his permission and rocking steadily, grinding up into him, and his cock was perfect. The worry about the outside world hearing them through the open windows was a vague thought that melted into nothing when Gladio gripped him harder, closer, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his hips, and kept on thrusting.

“Oh,” Ignis sighed, _oh, _and Gladio’s brows were deeply knit. Sweat made his temples glisten. Ignis’ splayed hands could feel his muscles shifting under his skin, overworked. There were a thousand different things about him, each more appealing than the last, to how his eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was eager, hungrily firm against his lover’s. “Gladio!”

His cry fuelled the fire. Teeth caught his lower lip and nipped hard. Gladio’s mouth was hot, desperate, and Ignis knew he would kiss like this. Like he was starving, yearning for a man close enough to touch, all wrapped up in duty and responsibility, completely off limits. There was no way in hell they would ever be permitted to be together, and Gladio’s father was no doubt rolling in his grave in the knowledge that just shy of five days after Insomnia fell that they were like this, fucking like animals, Ignis fulfilling every fantasy he had tried so hard to supress. Ignis had carried some for years, some for months. As a young boy Ignis had hoped to hold his hand, had hoped to be best friends forever. As a teen those fantasies had sharpened, deepened, until it was something he could only be ashamed of. He scolded himself for each.

But Gladio was inside him now. Stiff and warm, firm against his insides, as long and thick as he had dared dream. And all his.

All else was a haze. Any thoughts of the coming morning or where their charge was were irrelevant. Ignis was panting, clinging on tight as if afraid Gladio would disappear, as if this was all his fanciful imagination dialled up to a hundred. Perhaps they could be alone a little longer in the morning – Ignis would be sore, he was positive of it, and perhaps Gladio would help him to the shower. If he was very lucky Gladio would spend a while helping him clear up, a gentleman. On his knees against the cool tile Ignis would make his kindness worth his while, letting Gladio make a mess across his face and in his mouth.

Work was a fleeting memory, responsibilities left in the dirt. Ignis could only hope he made Gladio feel the same, too enthralled with the warmth of his body to think of the prince and country he served.

Deep inside him, Gladio twitched. He had been pulsing hard for what felt like forever, driving all other thoughts outside of Ignis’ head. But he hadn’t come yet – no matter how close Gladio was he held back, tendons stark in his throat, a thrumming to his pulse. Ignis never wanted to stop, never wanted the please to crest and cease, he wanted to hear Gladio come. Each of his noises were bitten off. Mangled versions of Ignis’ name, growls and groans, soft whines that Ignis cherished. Each were barely audible.

“Come in me,” Ignis urged him, and drew his legs tighter around Gladio’s hips. His blunt nails dug into the meat of Gladio’s shoulder and the man grunted. “Come inside me, Gladio, I want it. Give it to me.”

A hard kiss stole away his pleas. Teeth nipped at his lower lip. Gladio’s facial hair was softer than Ignis thought, well cared for with oils and he could smell it. They were disgusting, sweaty creatures and Ignis could feel the mess he was making, lube smeared along his thighs and precome soaking his stomach. But Ignis’ nostrils were filled with Gladio’s hair product, his musk, the smell of a hotel’s detergent. The heat barely bothered him, not when Gladio’s hips were moving faster, snapping against his. Ignis moaned helplessly, tearing away from Gladio’s lips to throw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. The feeling was too much. His cock was caught between their stomachs and he was desperate to stroke, to push his teetering orgasm over the edge. But Gladio was more interested in laying feverish kisses along his skin, laving his tongue over his pulse, and Ignis could have screamed.

He thought he did, when Gladio finally roared and emptied his release into him, but just before Ignis could fall into the end with him he jerked awake, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, panting hard.

There was no longer a weight pressing him into the sheets. He was soaked through with sweat, sticky and foul. There was even sweat between his toes. The air was so hot it was hard to even exist, and Ignis couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

When he finally came back to himself, breath slowing, the room was quiet and absolutely not the room he was in moments ago. It was yet another strange room. There were cracks in the paint, fine black lines spiralling line cobwebs. Ignis turned his head and his body felt heavier than before, a challenge to simply move. To his right he found the motel room, another bed, and misshapen lumps of Noctis and Prompto cuddled up together, like puppies in a pile.

A scent filled his nose. Detergent, the very same that he had smelt, _in his dream._

“Oh, bloody hell,” he hissed, and wiped the sweat from his brow. His hair was greasy. Pushing the sheet that covered him away he didn’t feel the least bit better, cooler air against his hot torso. He chanced a glance to his left, and as always Gladio was next to him. Sound asleep, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm with his lips gently parted.

Ignis stares at him with his nerves shattered. He waits for a fault, for some break in pretence, and it never comes. Well and truly asleep. Ignis sighs in some relief, only to stretch his legs and winces at the wetness in his boxers. _Astrals. _Dreaming like a teenager again. Back then it always made him feel loose and relaxed, at least until he left for work and made eye contact with the object of his desire. Then the guilt set in, and just like then shame replaces any shadow of arousal.

There isn’t a single sign of sunlight at the window. Too early for a shower, but the mess cannot go ignored. Gods forbid he wakes any of them, or already woke them, forced to listen to the sounds of his humiliation.

“Bloody hell,” Ignis grit again, covering his face with his hands, and resigned himself to a long night spent wide awake.

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't resist the don henley, man


End file.
